Vengeance of the Hammer
by Astraea Eos
Summary: DISCONTINUED! Luke Hawking has gone captured with rebelling builders that have forsaken the home villages and are building their own forces across the unknown sea that threaten retaliation. Remi searches for him while she pieces together her old life that constantly haunts her while finding unexpected peace in newfound love with the man who started it all.
1. Chapter 1

He was brutally awakened by a spine arching sensation that flooded his body in half a second, painting his vision over with bright blue and white light and locking in every scream inside of him. Sharp white tendrils of electricity sprinted up and down his arms and legs and grasped his brain, freezing every intention of moving his body. The shocks of the lightning spell administered on him jolted his body involuntarily as the spell took its course. His soft gray eyes were repleted a brilliant unnatural blue, focused on a stubby figure standing next to the open doorway of his room, shrouded in darkness in the moonless night. He noticed the bedcovers had been burned off his body, the chilly air setting in his warm skin. The figure approached, holding a dimly glowing object in it's hands, sending off warning signals in Luke's fried brain. He internally screamed at his muscles to move and defend him from the intruder, but his usually quick and nimble limbs ceased to attend to his commands. He was paralyzed.

"Luke, Luke Hawking..." The figure purred. The boy frowned in confusion, fear temporarily deterred, as he recognized the voice. It was one of the five builders in his village- vilifying Nikolas, the snarky, impatient one with the sharp tongue and hammer he sometimes used as a intimidating weapon rather than a tool.

The stubby bushy haired man was now right by his bedside, and for once was not holding his infamous hammer but a thin phial full of a luminous white liquid. As he stepped forward into Luke's dim line of vision, however, the boy noticed his infamous hammer was still with him, strapped to his back like a javelin on a warrior- but with unfamiliar ornaments of amethyst and black opal on the wooden handle that only rendered the hammer and its bearer more threatening.

Luke's flashing blue eyes followed, unable to stop him from advancing as the diminishing aftershocks still shook his body. He was still paralyzed by the force of the spell, something he'd never been brave enough to try on himself despite the countless times he'd used it in battles. A strong sense of foreboding overshadowed the boy as Nikolas neared him. He'd always had a bad feeling about the builder. Especially in the last few months, the master builder had been edgier and less approachable than before. But to see him enigmatically slink into his bedroom in the witching hours was unanimously a different story.

"I've come here," Nikolas' deep voice cleaved through the disquietude, "to steal one of the clan's finest and brightest minds, you. For years I have watched your ingeniousness, a pure prodigy in battle. Your deftness with designing defenses, quick mind and feet, is exactly what I need for my plot of insurrection." Luke felt no pride in any of the praise. He was still on edge of what Nikolas was up to in the middle of the goddamn night with him. He glanced around his dark room for his celestial bronze scimitar which was nowhere in sight. Nikolas cackled evilly at the sight of the helpless frightened boy before unscrewing the lid of the vial.

And I- We builders have worked day and night; underpaid, underfed, under-appreciated. But now it is time. Explorers have found wild land elsewhere across the ocean no one has ever dared travel. We will no longer be the slaves for the ungrateful. We will rise against your kind."

Luke hadn't heeded a word Nikolas had said. His eyes were fixed on the vial tipped over him.

Instead of coming out in liquid form, however, the potion spewed out as clouds of glittery white dust that settled on the blond boy, melting into him smoothly..

"And we are taking you, Lukas Hawking, to help us build our forces. We need bright minds like yours. If you refuse and escape, however... You will become the enemy too."

There was a breath of wind that ran over his skin, and a sudden rush of calm sleepiness washed over him, attempting to drag his eyelids shut. With a loud grunt, Nikolas hefted up the boy, a full head taller than his short build and began to pull him outside quietly. Luke felt a feeling of overcoming drowsiness soak his body, and despite his fear and confusion in the situation, he fell into unconsciousness.

The town hall was completely silent and empty as usual, the few guards standing around dozed off in their stations. Nikolas managed to slide into a secret underground gold mine passage without a hitch which nearly deposited them on the edge of the village. He continued down to the beach, where beyond the craggy gray boulders and peachy sand majestically stood a grand oak ship plumed with red and white sails and lit by a few bright torches. It was crowded with the rebelling builders preparing to launch the ship, anxiously waiting around. When they saw Nikolas, they silently raised their hammers in respect. Giving them a nod, Nikolas climbed up the ship's ramp and headed inside a dark corridor, past rooms filled with weapons, building materials, firewood and more before opening another door he knew was empty. Four pallets lined up in neat rows , three already occupied by three other drugged captives. Luke was chucked onto the empty one and slumped onto the pallet loudly with loud thumps, causing to Nikolas swear under his breath as one of the captives stirred.

Back on deck, he tilted his face to the sky. Thin starlight still covered the expansive dome overhead, but the first signs of sunrise were appearing at the east. The sleeping village would rouse in a few hours to discover the absence of the rebels. He nodded to the captain to start the ship, and they pulled offshore into the west.


	2. The Effects of Retaliation

**Oi, Ari here. I had to write a sequel even though I know no one will read it (hahhh). It was inspired off the 'Bye Bye Builder' video Clash of Clans posted on their channel when the builders disappeared from the game for months, although this fic will be much darker opposed to the colorful, child friendly COC version. I'm assuming this sequel will contain the same rating as the prequel WTBST, perhaps even more dark and mature if I deem it fitting and formatting with the plot. Without further ado, here is _Vengeance of the Hammer._**

* * *

"He's not dead," Remi hissed. She clutched a letter in trembling hands, threatening to tear it in half. "Marco Atlas is not dead."

She stared at the roaring fire in the hearth before her and memories shot into her mind. The threats. The empty barroom. His hands up her thighs. The dagger slick with her own blood. The saving grace of the heal spell. The harried shot she had aimed at him with the crossbow as she felt like a fool.

 _It's not over, Stane_. The page seemed to scream the blithering words written on it.

Oh, why couldn't he have gone to hell already so she could be left in peace? Yet alive he was- as proclaimed in the letter, asking- no- forcing her to go and war with his clan.

 _I'm_ _coming_ _back_ _for_ _you_ , he had written, _do not assume I will let you off that easily. I will come back for you when you least expect, or maybe when you will expect me. And this time, I will make sure it goes my way._

It was a threat she couldn't step down from. Not now, not ever. She knew how much he was capable of doing and the lengths he would go to get his way. One misstep and she would be back trapped under his arms with his knee pressed right on her cervix. The only upper hand she had held above him before was her power, and now even that was gone.

She swore angrily and shoved the letter on a nearby desk before sinking into her chair. Her small place of refuge, sanctity, and oasis- her office; a small and cozy room filled with books, blueprints, and work comforted her. It was nothing like the vast courtroom she had once ruled, but it was a good change. She had left behind an old self; a prideful, self absorbed, remorseless version of herself back there.

And, there was Jules. The man who changed her for the better in ways she never knew possible. He had stirred her cold heart and seeped warmth and fluidity into her rigid life. Brought back the option of escape. Even opened a new path of life. But in the end, had he really done anything livable? What she felt for him could almost be deemed love- maybe it was- but maybe it wasn't.

But now... a memoir of her old life had fluttered back into her life like a lacy white butterfly that secretly held poison in it's glands. Marco. She had hoped for his death, or at least a banishment from her life completely Had someone discovered the barroom plight those weeks ago. But fate always had a way of bringing back together the most unfitting people in the most unfitting times for the most unfitting reasons.

But, threats were threats. It was just another battle, wasn't it? Just another attempted pillage on her home villages or a clash in the royal arenas, wasn't it? Just another stroke of luck, wasn't it?

She took a deep, composed breath and stood up as resolution took over her previously clouded mind. She would train and learn and commit until she was fully prepared for the return of her vilifying childhood enemy.

* * *

Jules met her inside the barracks, looking concerned. Remi has been deep into work of calculating health and hit points the strongest and sneakiest of troops to use against Marco. All of that information happened to be in thick, dusty volumes that looked and felt ancient. She thought of her old court's office with it's clean notepads full of notes and regularly used volumes, all dust free and full of thumb marks. Clearly, Jules did not value the importance of specific hitpoints.

"Have you seen Luke?" Jules asked as he came in, panting a little.

"No, he's probably foraging in the forest. Why?" Remi replied, distracted.

"He's been missing since this morning. His whole village hasn't seen a trace of him." Jules responded.

"He'll disappear for days at a time," Remi replied as she thumbed through a couple pages.

"No," Jules said. "He's gone. His belongings are untouched. His sword was left behind."

"I'm pretty sure he's still around, damn!" Remi hissed.

"Remi," Jules said seriously. "His bedcovers were singed and burnt. He was seemingly dragged out of his room by the marks on his bedroom floor. By who I have no idea."

It was then Remi looked up at him, her violet eyes wide with apprehension as her quill clattered onto the page, soaking the spot with black ink.

"And that's not all," Jules added. "All of our builders are missing. Every last one."


End file.
